


Fueled by Knock-Off Ramen

by staranon



Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: AH peeps are there but are relatively in the background, Achievement Hunter Heists, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, FakeHaus, Origin Story, these guys are a mess, they try so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranon/pseuds/staranon
Summary: TruckNutz Inc. failed. Buff Huskies was cursed. Now they didn't have a name and were so low on the LSPD's radar that they considered becoming upstanding citizens of society again.But the thrill of crime still calls out to them and when fate comes knocking in a Hawaiian print shirt, they certainly aren't going to say no.Or the FakeHaus origin story no one wanted but I was inspired to write regardless.





	1. Hang in There, Kitten

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to have a little fun and try something new. If you follow me on tumblr, you'll know that I've been bingeing on Funhaus GTA lps recently and let me tell you that they are a damn mess.
> 
> So lo and behold we have this.

They were a group of four and three contract freelancers respectively.

They didn’t have a permanent base of operations.

They didn’t have a set budget to operate on.

They were so low level that no one knew their name. Not the cops. Not the other gangs. Not even the news.

Perhaps that had something to do with their branding issue.

First, it was TruckNutz Inc.. They worked out of a decent sized penthouse in Los Santos’s downtown. It had been ideal until they lost most of their cargo to another gang. They’d been unable to make rent, and soon TruckNutz was abandoned, so they could start fresh.

Then it was the Buff Huskies. They wanted to attempt the biker gang mentality and so left to settle on the opposite side of town where the biker bars were located. It took them further out of the city to where the land rose up in sharp hills, the pavement turned to dust and shrubs, where they could see the stars for once in their lives.

Buff Huskies was . . . _mildly_ successful. They did some drug running. Did some investing. They made _some_  money with a backer. But then again, they were only four. Plus three on the side. Not exactly an army.

Long story short: they weren’t really bike men to begin with and had to haul ass after one eventful night crossing paths with _the_ gang of Los Santos: the Fakes.

The Fakes had certainly made their mark on the city. An infamous gang of six members with a whole host of those who’d come to defend them. Their mark was a green rubber duck set in cross hairs. Their six mean bastards with a flair for the dramatic each had their own distinct personality. There was the King Pin: a dangerous mix of tattoos and suits so expensive it would make Adam cry a little on the inside. There was the Ace Pilot: a ginger who wore floral print shirts and flipflops, a match made for James (mister camo shirt and zebra pants over there). There was the Vagabond: the mysterious man in the mask. The Golden Boy with his glitz and glam. The Bruiser in his patented leather jacket, laughing loudly and wildly as he detonated a police cruiser. And the Rimmy Tim, another wild card dressed garishly in purple and orange, often set up as the sniper.

They were the real deal. They were what the formerly-known-as-TruckNuts-formerly-known-as-Buff-Huskies aspired to be.

Lawrence would often come in with the latest news clipping of the Fakes to their makeshift base of operations: an abandoned garage that didn’t have any working electricity or running water. They were currently making do with what they could jack off their neighbour, a farmer old enough to probably known Al Capone.

“This,” Lawrence would say, holding the clipping aloft, “is what we need to aspire to be. Do better.”

“Your pep talks _always_ do it for me,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, well I don’t see any of you trying to take charge and get things going again.”

“I’m telling you,” James said. “Buff Huskies was our peak. If we can just get a _new_ squad of bikes—”

“Enough with the bikes!” Adam groaned. “We tried the bikes. The bikes didn’t work. Let’s face it! We’re just not any good at the criminal thing.”

“Don’t say that, Adam,” Bruce said, attempting to play the situation off lightly. “We just hit a little bit of a dry spell. That’s all.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Dry spell.”

“What I think we need to do is to assert ourselves as a proper gang,” James said. “It’s been too long since the people have witness the righteous fury of the Buff Huskies!”

“No,” Lawrence said, punctuating it with a stern finger pointed in James’s direction. “No more Buff Huskies. That name is banned from this organization.”

“But how are people supposed to know who they’re being robbed by?”

“This is Los Santos. Everyone is robbing everyone! Besides, we just need a little morale boost is all. Celebratory burgers at McDonald’s afterwards?” There were some murmurs of agreement and slight nods.

Jeez. These guys had nothing going for them.

“Which car are we taking?”

“Mine got chop shopped last night so.”

“How did you get here then?”

“Bruce.”

“I nominate we take Bruce’s station wagon then.”

“I second that.”

 _Sigh._ “My insurance is gonna go through the roof.”

* * *

They were four very talented men disillusioned by the great dream of America. Three of them worked very dead end jobs—Lawrence as a used car salesman; James as an insurance broker; Bruce as a lawn maintenance worker; and Adam, well, Adam tried to make it on unemployment cheques but after receiving no answer from the fifty places he applied to, he was starting to look for other opportunities of employment.

The smash-and-grab job had been successful. Quick in and out. Muscle memory.

There hadn’t been much at the convenient store. Possibly due to the late hour at which they’d entered. The register had probably been emptied beforehand, but they took the opportunity to grab some snacks on their way out as they snatched the cash and made a quick getaway with Adam in the driver’s seat.

“Go, Adam, go go _go!_ ” James slapped his shoulder repeatedly as Adam put the station wagon into drive and sped off as fast as the car could go.

It wasn’t a big moment, but the thrill of it got them going, hopping and cheering as Adam sped off down the streets, making sure no one was tailing them, but then who would? The LSPD had bigger worries than a simple smash-and-grab.

“How much did we make?” Bruce asked.

Lawrence tallied the bills and said. “Thirty-five dollars.”

“Whoa, that’s a lot of money!”

And it was. To them. Their dry streak had finally ended, and it was going to be celebrated in the form of greasy two a.m. burgers. Saving up their earnings wasn’t something they considered. They took their cash and spent it as fast as they made it, because life was _now_ in Los Santos. If you didn’t enjoy it, someone else would do that for you.

So here they were, the four of them squashed into a booth gorging themselves on what thirty-five dollars could buy them at McDonald’s.

Now that the high had worn off, they were more or less slumped in the booth, quietly thinking about the next day, each returning to their own form of drudgery, each silently wishing that they had the prestige of the Fakes—taking the whole Robin Hood mentality to the extreme. They certainly robbed from the rich and tried to give back to the poor, but they were still selfish bastards at their core, buying and wrecking the most expensive cars money could buy because _they could._

“How goes the job hunting, Adam?” Bruce asked.

Adam, with his arms crossed, elbows set firmly on the table, shrugged. “I’m thinking of getting a sugar daddy. Can’t be that hard right?”

“I mean out of the four of us, you’re _definitely_ sugar baby material,” Lawrence said.

“Ugh, excuse me?” James said, looking slightly offended but not meaning anything by it. “Have you seen me? I’ve got the daddy issues _and_ the insecurities to pull off a sugar baby.”

“That’s not even what being a sugar baby is all about,” Adam said. “Besides, I have the bone structure to pull off the typical sugar baby.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“A round enough face to take off five years.”

“Damn. Well, you got me there.”

* * *

They usually got together three times a week to plan something elaborate. It usually ended in them fucking around for a few hours until they had to part ways because they all had to get to work in the morning, pulling double shifts to make ends meet.

Being a used car salesman meant Lawrence had the opportunity to score deals if any of them were in need of a car. That and he could switch out tires in the dead of night if need be. The lot he worked for didn’t have much traffic, but it was busy enough for him to earn a decent pay cheque on a bi-weekly basis.

“Sonntag! Customers!” His supervisor wasn’t exactly the nicest guy, but he put up with it because the guy let _so_ many things slide.

Lawrence bounded out of the store where two customers milled around—one very tall, very broad shouldered, and the other built similarly but scaled down.

“Hello,” Lawrence said, keying off a speech he knew by heart. “Welcome to Phil’s Used Cars.”

“Are you Phil by any chance?” the taller man asked, amused.

“Uh, no. I’m Lawrence.”

“Shame. I was really looking forward to meeting Phil, you know. _Phil’s Cars._ Seems like a requirement for everyone to be named Phil.”

“Well, standards have gone down since I was hired.”

The man laughed. “I’m Ryan.” He extended his hand. Lawrence shook it. Rough and firm.

_Jesus Christ, this man could probably break Lawrence’s back over his knee._

“And that’s Jeremy,” Ryan said, pointing to the smaller man who had wandered over to an ’87 Impala and kicked its tire. He sported a neatly shaved head and aviator sunglasses.

“Well, what can I do for you today?”

“We’re looking for large vans.”

“Preferably with no windows,” Jeremy said.

“Preferably,” Ryan said. “But we can make do without.”

“All right, well, follow me.”

It was a strange afternoon as Lawrence showed them around the lot, showing them the large vans they had, and watching as Jeremy got up on top of one and started bouncing.

“Ugh . . .”

“Just checking out the suspension,” Ryan assured him with an easy grin and a wink.

_The customer’s always right._

“Good for you, Jeremy?”

“Yep.” He hopped down nimbly. “There’s three here, and I figured we could snag that Impala and the Camaro.”

“Why the Camaro?”

“Jack said she wanted one for her birthday.”

“I didn’t know Jack liked Camaros.”

“She doesn’t, but she wanted something she could derby in.”

“Ah.” Ryan then turned to Lawrence with a smile. “We’ll take all three and the two cars.”

Lawrence blinked. “So . . .”

“Is five a problem?”

Lawrence snapped to it. “No, no. I’ll go get the paperwork ready and meet you inside.”

When he had everything ready for them to sign, Ryan pulled out a _huge_ clip of money and started counting the bills. _They were paying in cash. No one paid in cash unless they didn’t want to be traced._

“And a little extra for the superb service and that should be it. Yes?”

Lawrence quickly tallied the totals and nodded. “Uh, yes, thank you very much.” They shook hands to conclude the deal, and Ryan assured them that they’d be by in the next two days to pick up the vehicles if that was okay?

“No problem with that,” Lawrence said.

“All right. Pleasure doing business with you, Lawrence,” Ryan said, chipper as ever.

“Yeah, thanks not-Phil,” Jeremy said, and then they were gone.

Lawrence looked at the stack of cash sitting on his desk. The man had tipped him _a thousand fucking dollars._

_Cha-ching!_

He pocketed the money quickly so his supervisor—the man actually named Phil—wouldn’t confiscate it and divi it out to the other sales personnel. He needed this.

“Good work, Sontag,” Phil said once Lawrence finished up for the day.

_Fucking score._

* * *

Of the four of them, James’s apartment was the largest: two bedrooms, a decent living room, a full kitchen, and a four piece bathroom. Then again, he wasn’t living on his own, so it made sense that he could afford a decent place to live.

Bruce knocked on the door, wiped and weary from a long day out in the sun raking up grass clippings. At least he had beer, though. Beer and the promise of decent take out that wasn’t two days old and stewing in its own oils.

He knocked on the door, hearing the voices from within and deadbolt sliding back.

Elyse was there to greet him. She had recently cut her hair shorter, but she looked the same as always—smiling and saying his name, “Bruce! Hey, guys! Bruce is here!” she called over her shoulder. Within the apartment, someone else parroted his name. “Bruce!”

“Is that Joel?” he asked, stepping into the apartment and discarding his shoes because James had a strict no shoes policy in the apartment. He said he didn’t want to track dirt into the apartment, yet he had a dog shedding hair all over the place. It didn’t make sense to Bruce.

“Yeah, and Matt’s here as well.” Elyse quickly took the bag of tall boys from Bruce and rushed to the apartment. “And he brought beer!” she said and the occupants cheered in the other room.

“Hey! Save some for me, assholes!” Bruce quickly untied his work boots and slid into the next room to grab one of the cans in the bag. He slumped down on the couch and quite literally almost sank into it, the springs were so shot.

“Bruce!” He was sat between Elyse and Joel, Joel who was a loud and affectionate drunk. Joel wrapped his long arms around him and squeezed him tight. “I missed you.”

“Hey, Joel.” It’d been two weeks since they last had a large gathering like this before. Elyse, Joel, and Matt were all contract gangsters, lending out their skills to whoever paid the most. It was dangerous work, but it worked for them. They were just friends with the four others before all of them had collectively decided to try their hand at the criminal lifestyle.

“Hey, Matt,” Bruce said, stretching out his foot to try and tap the other man where he was curled up on the recliner.

Matt was already a quiet and soft spoken person, but became even more so when he drank, which wasn’t a lot, but still. He was curled up in a freaking ball on James’s recliner, wearing a ridiculously large hoodie with the hood pulled up, scrolling on his phone while everyone else watched the football game on the TV.

“Peake,” Bruce said, trying again to get his attention. What he did get was a direct look and a small wave.

_Success._

“Bruce, why do you always smell like grass?” Elyse said.

“’Cause I work in lawn maintenance?” he said. “You know this.”

“Oh, _right._ You still doing that?”

“Yeah?”

“Skim any old lady’s pools yet?”

“I’m . . . I’m not a pool boy, Elyse.”

“You’d make a beautiful pool boy, Bruce.”

Bruce frowned. “I guess.”

“Yeah, and you’d probably get, like, sweet tips. Better than you do now,” Joel added.

“Lawn maintenance guys don’t get tips, so.”

“ _Yo_ , think about it,” Elyse said. “Pool boy Bruce. Working for all the cougar moms in suburbia.”

“You’d get a lot more action that way,” Matt said, never looking up from his phone.

“No one asked, Peake,” Bruce said. “Hey, where’s Lawrence? And Adam? Aren’t they coming?”

“Lawrence was going to pick up the food,” James said from where he leaned against the wall. “And probably Adam.”

“ _Right._ His car.”

Out of all of them, Adam probably had it the roughest, and it showed when Lawrence arrived with bags of takeout and a forlorn Adam, sporting a large duffel bag on his back.

“Food time!” Lawrence said and dumped the bags on the coffee table. They all scrambled to get their container of King’s Chinese takeout while Adam shuffled into the room and laid down on the floor. He started moaning pitifully on the ground.

“Adam, mood killer,” James said, preferring to try and squeeze himself onto the couch until they were bunched up together. Meanwhile, Lawrence just grabbed a chair from the kitchen table to sit on.

Adam continued to moan with his duffle bag still fixed on his back.

“Awww, Adam,” Elyse said. “What’s up, little buddy?”

“I’m not the little one here,” Adam said with a frown. “If anyone’s little buddy, it’s Peake.”

“Short jokes,” Matt said, deadpanned. “Was wondering when we’d get to _that_ part of the night.”

“What’s up with you anyway?” Bruce asked, fending off Joel from eating his dumplings. “You’re more depressed than usual.”

After a long winded groan, Adam admitted. “I’m homeless.”

There was a lot of ‘awwwing’ and half hearted sentiments of ‘I feel you,’ which only made Adam frown more. “I don’t need your pity,” he said.

“Yeah, what he needs is money,” Lawrence said. “Which I have!” He pulled out a rubber band bundle of money and threw it down on the coffee table. “Daddy Sonntag made the big bucks today!”

Bruce eyed the bundle on the table. “Do you—do you get paid in cash now?”

“Nope. That was a tip.”

“You get tips?”

“Today I did. Thousand bucks. Cash.”

“ _Ooh,_ ” the room said.

“Do I get any of that?” Adam asked.

“No.”

“Then I don’t care.”

“Bruce, you’re in the wrong profession,” Joel said.

“I am in the wrong profession,” Bruce agreed. “Who tips a sales guy a thousand bucks for some shitty cars?”

“Uh, a guy who bought five cars in one go?” Lawrence said. “Best day of my fucking life.”

“Who buys five cars?” James asked.

“Doesn’t matter. I made money today.”

It was then that the football game was interrupted with a sudden jump cut to a high speed car chase down the freeway.

“Oh, come on. Again?”

“Maybe they’ll have a decent camera man this time,” James said. “So, you know, we can _actually_ watch the chase?”

“Is it a gang?” Lawrence asked. “Because if it’s not a gang, I’m not interested.”

_“. . . infamous Fake crew of Los Santos . . .”_

“Ugh,” Adam said with his face buried in the carpet. “Those guys again?”

“ _So_ overrated,” Lawrence said. “I mean, they’re not even that successful. If you think about, they wreck more of their shit than they probably earn.”

“They probably crowd fund their heists,” James said.

Bruce gasped. “What if that’s what it takes? We document this shit, right? Put it all over Youtube or whatever. And cash in. People watch stupid shit all the time.”

“Wait,” Joel said. “Are you guys still trying to form your own crew?”

“Um, when did we ever stop?” said James.

“What’s the name again?” Matt asked— _still_ looking at his phone. “Buff Hustlers?”

“Huskies. Buff Huskies.”

“That was never agreed upon,” Bruce said. “We’re changing brands. Buff Huskies is cursed.”

“Hey, why don’t you guys try free lancing like the rest of us?” Joel said.

“And ruin our brand’s integrity?”

“What integrity?” Matt asked.

“No one likes a smart ass, Matt,” James said. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Does _your_ boss give you a free iPhone?” Matt asked, finally looking up from his phone with a smirk and turning it so that they could see, yes, it was the latest edition of the iPhone.

“What kind of people are you working for that just give away free iPhones?”

“That’s confidential.”

“I wish _I_ had money,” Adam said.

“Don’t worry, Adam,” Bruce said. “You’ll bounce back.”

“Hey, James, Elyse, can I sleep here tonight?”

“That’s fine, Adam.”

“Thank you.”

“You could always become a gigolo like Bruce,” Elyse said.

“Not helpful, Elyse.”

“And I’m not a gigolo,” Bruce said. “So.”

“Well, this has been stimulating as usual,” Matt said, standing up and stretching. He tucked his phone away in his pocket. “But my boss needs me, so I need to make a quick exit.”

The TV showed the infamous Fakes shooting out the back of a van with a sloppily painted Fake logo on the side of it. There was the Golden Boy and the Bruiser, firing wildly at the cops. There was the Ace Pilot behind the wheel. In a second van were Rimmy Tim and the Vagabond, providing back up—black skull mask and cowboy hat a striking image. And where was the King Pin? Driving yet a _third_ white van by himself, ahead of the pack, one hand out the window flipping off the cops.

 _Man,_ Bruce thought. _Now that’s a crew._

Maybe they needed outfits and distinct personalities to make it work.

Maybe that was the key.

* * *

Working as an insurance broker paid the rent, sure, but James was getting closer and closer to putting his head through a desk if he had to work here one more month. He knew the money was good and that’s what kept them from ending up on the street. Elyse was doing well enough with her surveillance work on the side, but illicit earnings were never as stable. And now that they had to support Adam on top of Benson the dog, things were going to get a little bit more difficult.

Adam had slept on the couch because he didn’t feel like moving to the single bed in the second bedroom. Guy was weird like that.

“You’ll bounce back, Adam,” Elyse had said, pinning back her hair for her next job.

Adam had only moaned into the cushions.

“Take care of yourself and walk Benson if you can. We love you!”

“Bye, mom and dad.”

James had a poster hanging in his cubicle. It was one of those cheesy motivational posters. The one that said _Hang in there_ with a kitten grabbing onto a length of wire.

It was meant to represent _The Dream._ The dream of running his own crew. Playing with the big leagues instead of robbing the occasional convenient store just so they could _feel_ like they were still bad.

Phone call.

Answer.

“Hello, Rainy Days Insurance. How can I help you? Your car was ruined? By the Fakes you say? Yep. We cover that.”

Seriously. A man with his talents and his charm shouldn’t be stuck behind a desk. He was _born_ to lead. He was _born to be bad._ He was born to run wild in the streets with a pack behind him and a gun in his hand and—

Well. That’s as far as he ever got in his daydreams. Someday he’d form the crew he and the others had always wanted to be. He’d get Adam a good job with health benefits. He’d get Bruce the self-respect he deserved. He’d get Lawrence the best surveillance equipment money could buy. And he’d pay for Elyse, Matt, and Joel to work with them full time so they wouldn’t have to leave all the time, and they could be the gangster family they’d always dreamed of being.

On his break, he scrolled through the news on his phone. The headline **_FAKE LEADER CAUGHT: HOW THE LSPD BROUGHT DOWN GEOFF RAMSEY_** certainly caught his attention.

He texted it to the Buff Huskies group chat, despite Lawrence’s numerous attempts to change it.

**Buff Huskies (the formerly known as)**

_JamesWillems: now we make our move_

_SirLarr: like HE was the actual dangerous one. There’s still five more of them??_

_brucegreene: the field is even now. One on one!_

_adamkovic: James youre out of milk._

_SirLarr: Bruce, learn how to count. It’s still four on five._

_brucegreene: so??? Just hire Joel then. Pretty sure he just recently finished up a job_

_JamesWillems: 1) adam youre not an invalid. Get it yourself. 2) GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY. One big hit is all it takes and BOOM were front page material_

_SirLarr: hit what and where?? Where’s your blueprints??_

_JamesWillems: not every heist needs copious blueprints_

_SirLarr: if we hit any Fake territory we are FUCKED_

_brucegreene: live a little Lawrence. I’m pretty sure those guys have bigger fish to fry. One big hit really is all we need._

_adamkovic: also we have no money to pull off a large heist. We have no ammo and we are NOT carting around in bruces station wagon again_

_brucegreene: whats wrong with old faithful?_

_JamesWillems: Lawrence has money_

_SirLarr: 1000 bucks isn’t going to get us far_

_JamesWillems: itll get us SOME where_

_adamkovic: probably because you call it old faithful? The muffler is so loud Im afraid Im getting tinnitus_

_brucegreene: rude_

_JamesWillems: Im just saying we should use this to our advantage. Go big or go home amirite???_

_JamesWillems: Buff Huskies ride??_

_JamesWillems: guys_

_JamesWillems: come ON_

* * *

If it weren’t for his colourful stints with the police, Adam would’ve theoretically gotten a job somewhere by now. But after being acquainted with several parole officers over the years, people just didn’t want to take a chance with him. Employers would take one look at him and see that he wasn’t worth the risk. He’d work at a gas station, but he wanted to live a bit longer yet before resigning himself to the fact that he was five times more likely to be shot while on the job.

He wasn’t picky. He was just particular.

But he was getting to the point where he couldn’t be either because now he was free loading off of friends and heading down a spiral that would only end in depression. He had skills. Just none that applied to the blue collar world.

He had _great_ driving skills, but thought that being a taxi would drive him stir crazy.

He had great eyes for a scope and steady hands. He’d be good at any industrial job or anything that required him to work with his hands. But again, tedious work awaited him there and he needed something new and flashing to keep his interest.

He was good with tech. Not like Lawrence was, but good enough to be considered Lawrence’s back up. But then again no one trusted an ex-con around expensive tech equipment.

So that left him on James’s and Elyse’s couch, waiting for a sign from—he didn’t fucking know—God. Or gods. Fucking Cthulhu. Who cared at this point? He was wasting away on a couch, trying to force himself to shower or take Benson out for a walk and get some goddamn milk so he could eat some cereal. _Anything_ but this drudgery.

Then his phone rang.

Peake.

Thank God. He wasn’t up to taking to any of the guys at the moment.

“Yeah?”

_“Hey. You still looking for a job?”_

“Yeah.”

_“You think the guys would be interested as well?”_

“What’s this about?”

_“Well, my boss got himself into some trouble, and we need a backup crew. You up for it?”_

“Is the grass fucking green?”

_“Is . . . is that a yes? Because grass can be brown you know.”_

“Oh my God, Matt. Yes. We’ll take the job. Christ.”

_“Sweet. Um. I’ll text you the directions. Just remember to delete the message afterwards, yeah?”_

“Yeah. No problem. Thanks.”

He hung up and messaged the group chat

**Buff Huskies (the formerly known as)**

_adamkovic: you guys up for a job???_

_brucegreene: yoooooo_

_JamesWillems: YOOOOOOOO_

_SirLarr: what’s this about?_

_Adamkovic: peake called. Said he had a job for us. His boss needs a back up crew for something. So I said yes. He’s going to text me instructions._

_brucegreene: YOOOOOOO_

_JamesWillems: Adam Kovic. The real MVP_

_SirLarr: did he say anything else?_

_adamkovic: nope_

_adamkovic: just texted me_

_adamkovic: we’re meeting him at the Glory Hole.. never heard of it???_

_SirLarr: it’s a strip club. Big gangs like to go there._

_JamesWillems: Buff Huskies ride???_

_SirLarr: I’ll give it to you this ONE time_

_JamesWillems: YESSS_

_JamesWillems: BUFF HUSKIES RIDE!!!_

* * *

And that brought them here, the Glory Hole, one fateful June night after the sun had set.

They hadn’t dressed fancy or anything. Just in regular jeans and tees.

They entered as one group, winding their way through the crowd until they found Matt.

“Thanks for hooking us up, Matt,” James said. “Really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t embarrass me. I really put myself out there so you guys don’t go hungry. They’re in the back. Follow me.”

They got taken to the back like in every mafia movie they’d ever watched together. _The back_ had its mysteries and now they were being inducted into its secret society.

Each of them a little giddy, a little nervous on the prospect of working with an _actual_ crew. They didn’t know much about what Matt did for a living or who he’d been working with. But if the boss was giving away free fucking iPhones, they weren’t going to question it.

That is until they saw who was waiting for them in the back.

None other than the infamous Fakes. The five of them, gathered together in their trademark outfits, missing all but one, their infamous leader.

“How do you boys feel about breaking into prisons?” the Ace Pilot asked.

And for once in their lives, none of them had anything to say.


	2. Jail Bait Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooo this story is much larger than i anticipated. maybe 3 or 4 parts. we'll see what happens. enjoy!

They ordered drinks. The Fakes did. For them. For all of them.

It was kind of a surreal moment, sitting down with the Fakes, eating nachos and drinking  _really_ good craft beer.

“So,” the Ace Pilot said. “Before the food gets cold, let’s get through introductions. I’m Jack. That’s Jeremy in the cowboy hat. Gavin wearing sunglasses like the pretentious preppy he is. That’s Michael with the black eye. And Ryan. Wearing a goddamn mask  _inside._ ”

“I like my privacy,” the Vagabond said, standing in the corner of the room with his arms resolutely crossed.

“Christ,” Gavin, the Golden Boy, said. “Give it a rest, Ryan. They’re in on it now. You bought smegging vans from one of them.”

That made Lawrence perk up. He first looked to Jeremy and then looked to the masked man in the corner. “Ohhh,” he said.

“That’s all you have to say?” James said, leaning in to whisper more quietly. “You sold cars to the Fakes and all you got to say is oh?”

“I was distracted by the money. Sue me.”

Ryan reluctantly took off his mask. There was smudged black paint coating his eyes, but he still looked every inch the terrifying criminal he was.

“And thanks to Matt,” Jack said. “We can skip over your introductions.”

They all turned to look at Matt, giving him looks of betrayal and ‘why didn’t you tell us you worked for the Fakes?? We wouldn’t have said anything???’.

As the self-appointed leader of their group, Lawrence spoke up first. “So, is there a reason why you called us?”

“Yeah,” Gavin said in a tone that was slightly condescending. “We told you. We’re breaking Geoff—”

“Nuh nuh nuh, we got that. We just want to know why  _us_ specifically.”

“Why are we on your short list?” Adam asked.

“Well, we’ve heard of you,” Jack said.

The four of them chuckled. “Heard of us?” James said. “Wow. I mean, we don’t even get picked up on the twenty-four hour news channel. And they’re just dead air by four in the morning.”

“You guys were Buff Huskies before weren’t you?” Ryan asked. “The guys on bikes? Yeah, we tangled with you guys before.”

“We  _were_ Buff Huskies,” Lawrence said, asserting their  _Buff Huskies is eternally cursed_ policy before James could say otherwise. “We’re in the middle of rebranding.”

“Still, you guys were . . . interesting.”

“Interesting?” Michael said. “Do you remember the stunts they pulled? On bikes? We couldn’t even catch them!”

“See,” James muttered to them. “Bikes weren’t so dumb after all.”

“Hey,” Adam said, lifting his empty glass. “Could I get a refill?”

“Let’s get back to why we’re here,” Jack said, attempting to keep all of their focus on the issue at hand. “We need you guys to help us break Geoff out of prison.”

“Why is he in prison in the first place?” Bruce asked.

“He got lost on our way to the safe house,” Gavin said. “He’s not really a directions guy.”

“To be fair, he’d get lost in his own building,” Michael said.

“And why did you want us to help?” Lawrence asked. “I mean, don’t you guys have everyone in your pocket?”

“Yeah, but Geoff wants us to absolutely  _humiliate_ the shit out of the LSPD,” Jeremy said. “To secure his own reputation again. He didn’t take to the arrest all too well.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” said Gavin.

“So we need to do everything we can to make this the most ridiculous prison break possible,” Ryan said.

“Fireworks, ridiculous masks, God awful codenames,” Michael said. “Just basically turn up the cheese factor to eleven and you’ll get what we’re going after.”

“Just hypothetically speaking,” Bruce said. “If we were to refuse, for whatever reason, not saying that we’re going to, but if it were to happen—”

“You know we can’t let you leave this room, right?” Ryan said, taking a sly smile with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I knew it,” Adam said. “They’re just going to kill us to get their blood going. We’re just the pre-heist kill thrill.”

“You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t trust you, plain and simple,” Jack said.

“You trust us?” James asked. “Us. These guys. The people you don’t know.”

“What can we say?” Jeremy said with a shrug. “We’ve got a soft spot for misfits who stick together.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or thankful,” James whispered to Bruce.

“Besides,” Michael said. “If you guys’ve stuck together this long, then you obviously still trust each other. Thick and thin, right? We get that.”

That was an interesting way of putting it. They’d been at each other’s throats before whenever something went wrong, but when the night ended, they were really all that they had, the only support network they’d ever get. They stuck with each other because, well, they had to. And apparently that was an asset the Fakes were looking for.

“So we clear?” Jack asked. “You know why you’re here?”

A few nods.

“Good. Then let’s get down to business.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the table. “Geoff’s been locked up Bolingbroke Penitentiary super max. They aren’t taking any chances with him. Their record has been 100% escape proof. Security cameras. Patrols. Guard dogs. Two chain link fences topped with barbed wire. Shaped like an octagon with guard towers at every post. Each guard tower is circular with clear windows to look out of. They also have surveillance equipment in each tower. Armed with tear gas, rifles, tranquillizers, and God knows what else. They are manned by teams of four at all times.

“In order to get into the prison, you either need to be a prisoner or a guard. To be a guard at this prison, you need to have been vetted by the warden himself after going passing an extensive background check. You are then given a key card to enter the prison. They have facial recognition software, so if you don’t match the photo they have on record, you will then be escorted off the prison grounds. They have some of the best software defenses in the country. Nothing goes in or out without them knowing.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Bruce said. “That this is heist is impossible.”

“Didn’t say that,” Jack said. She was smirking now. “They haven’t met the likes of us. If Geoff wants loud, Geoff  _gets_ loud.”

“The only way to break Geoff out of an impenetrable prison,” Gavin said, “is to make it as obvious as possible. There’s no way we can do this quietly. They’ll catch us. So the only way to get the job done is to make it as loud as possible. That way they won’t suspect the usual.

“So what are we talking about?” Adam asked. “Like, fireworks?”

“To start,” Jeremy said.

“We could just go full out and grab a tank,” Ryan said. “I mean, it wouldn’t be  _that_ hard, would it?” The way he was grinning said that he could be joking. But the glint in his eyes said he wasn’t.

“We’re not shooting for a body count here, Ryan,  _Jesus._ ” Gavin shook his head. “But other than that, pretty much everything goes.”

“So what’s step one?” Bruce asked. “I’m assuming this requires a bit more planning than just storm the castle.”

“That’s right,” Jack said. “And that’s where you come in, Adam.”

Everyone turned to look at Adam, who sat back in his seat, stamping down on the urge to bolt. “What? Why me?”

“We need to put someone on the inside alongside Geoff.”

“For what purpose?”

“As a bodyguard, a go between. Getaway driver.”

“Getaway driver,” Bruce said. “Why do you need a getaway driver in a super max prison?”

“We’re working on something,” was all that Michael said.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “But why me? Isn’t it easier if one of you guys gets stuck in jail with Geoff? I mean, he actually  _knows_ you, so.”

“It’s less messy if an ex-con gets put back in the system, so,” said Gavin.

Adam sank in his chair and covered his face with his hands. He groaned. “My past as an ex-con comes back to haunt me.”

“Can I ask how many times you’ve been to jail?” Jack asked.

“Including juvie?”

Jack nodded. “Good enough. It’ll be easier if a repeat offender goes back. That means you’re already high up on the watch list. We need to get you put into Bolingbroke, and the only way we can do that is to make sure you’ve got the LSPD’s attention. That means you need to go big to get picked up by them. Do you currently have any outstanding arrest warrants?”

“I’ve been trying to turn a new leaf, so no.”

“Well, I’ll leave that up to you on how you want to be arrested. Just make sure it’s dangerous enough that you get sent to Bolingbroke. Otherwise they’ll just put in a county jail and you’ll just have to wait it out.”

Adam sulked in his seat and drank down the rest of his beer rapidly.

“So if that’s step one,” Lawrence said, “what’s step two?”

“We’re getting to that part. For now we just need an inside man. Get that down and we’ll go from there.” Jack stood up and stretched her arms over her head. The other Fakes followed suit and stood to leave. “We’ll be in touch. We’ve set up an account for you guys to fund your activities for now. Please, don’t burn through it in a day.”

“And if any of you fucks try to double cross us, you’re dead,” Michael said. To this the Vagabond smiled and waved at them in a friendly manner. It was oddly unsettling.

“Bye, boys,” Gavin said, turning up the Golden Boy charm as they headed out the door in a group.

The four of them were left there in silence, trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation before them. Matt, who’d said nothing up until this point, finally spoke up. “Well,” he said. “Guess we’re coworkers now.”

* * *

So it started like this.

Lawrence called for a meeting. Bruce picked up Adam on the way. James stopped by at his work to pick up that precious poster, and they all met up at their temporary base of operations to discuss the previous events and where they should go from here.

James was chipper as always, declaring that this was the break they needed.

“This is the break we needed,” he said, pinning up his cat poster on board. “Guys, it’s official. We are now a gang of Los Santos.”

“No, we’re not,” Bruce said. “If anything we’re just freelancers like Joel and Elyse.”

James waved him off. “Semantics.”

“Anyways,” Lawrence said. “I think we need to direct attention to the fact that we were just hired to break the most notorious king pin out of one of the most secure prisons in the country. Does no one see and issue with this?”

Adam raised his hand. “Um, I do.”

“Adam, your opinion doesn’t matter much in this because you’re our golden ticket here whether you like it or not.” James set himself down in a chair. “Why aren’t you guys more excited by this? This is what we’ve been waiting for! We’re just piggy backing off of their success! Win win!”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to go to jail. Again.”

“We’ll break you out. I really don’t see what the big issue here is.”

“Um, how about the fact that we’re working with the Fakes? What if they’ve got ulterior motives? What if they’re going to pin everything on us and get away scot free?”

“Matt wouldn’t have betrayed us like that.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce said. “He could be harbouring some grudges that we’ve totally forgotten about.”

“I doubt he’s  _that_ cynical,” said James. “Besides. The Fakes have our back in this. They gave us money. They’re giving us equipment. It couldn’t  _more_ of a perfect situation.”

“Okay, okay,” Lawrence said. “I think we’re all in agreement that we can work with this situation.”

“Don’t you care what I have to say?” Adam said.

“Not really. You’re just bitter that you’re the jailbait. If you weren’t, you’d totally be on board with this.”

Adam crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, creaking dangerously as he did with a fierce glare on his face.

“So,” Lawrence said, standing at the head of the table. “Does anyone have any ideas on how to get Adam into super max prison?”

Adam sighed heavily.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

After tossing around a few ideas, they finally settled on one that they felt would get the right amount of attention. They were going to rob a bank.

They were going to rob it not only because they felt like they could with the support of the Fakes, but also it was sure to get Adam locked up for hard time. If they targeted the largest bank in the city, it was sure to put him away for a good time.

Hypothetically speaking. Since they weren’t actually trying to get Adam locked up for good.

They impulsively quit their jobs with the prospect of an exquisitely topped up bank account and jumped head first into planning their grand heist—the one thing that was going to skyrocket them into fame.

After two weeks of planning, they received a call from Gavin.

_“So. When are you guys going to make your move? Geoff’s getting antsy.”_

“Any day now,” Lawrence said. “We’re just waiting on our getaway car and we’re good to go.”

_“Getaway car. What exactly are you guys planning over there?”_

“Oh, just a little grand theft. Nothing too big.”

_“Well. Sounds like you guys are on the right track. Well. Keep it up and we’ll, uh, see if it all goes down, yeah?”_

“Yep.”

After the call ended, James proposed they should hit the thrift store beforehand to stock up on masks and outfits. They agreed on the masks part, but not the garish dress.

“We’re here for masks,” Adam said. “Not cheap clothing from the 80s.”

“Live a little, Adam. We’ve got to dress the part of criminal masterminds if we’re going to achieve success.”

“Yeah, but the plan includes blending into crowds. You’re not going to blend if you wear anime pants.”

“Anime pants,” Lawrence said from another aisle. “Toss them here.”

James pulled them from the hanger and flung the anime pants over to Lawrence. Lawrence said nothing more and walked away with them in hand.

While it was far from Halloween season, the thrift store had no shortage of cheap rubber and plastic masks. They mulled around on the idea of looking for four identical masks, or four completely different masks that each of them could agree on. They went for the four different masks, deciding it would cause less strife.

They decided to wear normal civilian clothing, because at the end of the day Lawrence, James, and Bruce would hopefully slip back into the crowd of hostages when Adam made a break for it. Key word:  _hopefully._ A lot of their heist plan was dependent on improve, so a few crossed fingers wouldn’t go amiss.

On the day of the heist, they each entered the agreed upon bank at separate times. The signal would be when James laughed—extraordinarily loud—as he flirted with a teller over the counter.

Adam pulled on his bear mask and pulled out his gun. “EVERYBODY DOWN ON THE GROUND!”

Bruce fired off a few pot shots, wearing a wolf mask. The people screamed.

They took out the security guards first, either by shooting them in the arm, or threatening a customer with a gun pressed to their head. Eventually, they had everyone on the floor, the doors locked, cellphone gathered in a pile on the floor. It was pretty impressive by their standards. Now they were pepped up on adrenaline, hearts pounding, blood rushing.

_This. This was the life._

While Lawrence and Adam descended to the vaults, Bruce and James were left on crowd control duty.

_“Are you looking at me?! You keep your eyes on the ground! You’re gonna get shot if you don’t shut up!”_

“I think James is having too much fun,” Adam said as they made their way down the stairs.

Lawrence dumped his tech bag—a lovely gift from the Fakes—down next to the vault and set to work on cracking the passwords.

“Let him live a little,” Lawrence said. “He’s been  _dying_ to use his intimidation voice on someone.”

James’s intimidation voice often came out when they were playing video games in their off hours. It was really just a lot of yelling that eventually devolved into nonsense and screaming. Hopefully Bruce could keep it together for once and not burst out into laughter. They were  _professionals_ for God’s sake. They had to keep it together instead of letting the ridiculousness of the situation get to them.

_They were robbing a fucking bank. How ridiculous could it get?_

Even more so once Lawrence cracked the code. The large circular vault door swung open, and Adam had his breath stolen away at the carts within, stacked with cash.

“I’m not afraid to say that I’m turned on right now,” Lawrence said, taking the first step in.

“I want to roll in it.” He felt like he was intoxicated, looking at the piles of money just sitting there for the taking. He had never seen so much money in his entire life.

It felt so good to be bad.

They stuffed what cash they could in their bags before leaving. Now all they had to do was make their convenient escape.

In Bruce’s bag were smoke grenades. Under the smokescreen, they meant to exchange bags. The three of them would sneak the money out once Adam made his daring escape to the getaway car and would hopefully lead most of the cops away from the bank so that they could slip away unnoticed with the other hostages.

That was the plan, anyway.

Four smoke grenades. They filled the room while the four of them fired off a few rounds into the air to cover Adam’s retreating steps to the back. This gave him enough time to get to the getaway car, and as the smoke filled the room, the others bundled their weapons and masks and other identifiers together in a bag and tossed it over the counter out of sight. They dropped to the ground with their bags of money, huddling with the other hostages until the cops burst onto the scene.

It was good. It was easy. It was going  _so damn well._ And as they were being huddled out of the building, Adam peeled around the corner and sped off firing random shots in the air to get the cops attention on him and away from the three bank robbers posing as hostages.

With Adam away, they snuck away individually, going to a separate car parked two blocks away. When they got inside with their ill-gotten money lying at their feet, they sat for a moment in stunned silence while James turned on the ignition and began driving them away. When they were far away enough from the bank and the commotion, they cheered.

“We’re fucking criminals!” Lawrence cheered.

“Watch out, world!” James said. “The Buff Huskies are back!”

“Okay,” Bruce said. “At our next meeting, we need to decide on a new name.”

* * *

Meanwhile, tearing down the highway with a convoy on his tail, Adam’s heart was about ready to jump out of his chest.

Adam had never been in a chase on this scale before. In the past, he’d had a few single cars chasing after him—usually because he was speeding, not because he’d just robbed a bank at gunpoint. Right now, he was pretty sure he had five cars tailing him and, yep, a helicopter flying overhead.

The Grand Prix he was driving had a lot of give to it. The steering was sensitive, a bit too much in Adam’s opinion. He ducked down when the cop behind him started firing.

 _“Jesus!”_ It took out one of his side view mirrors. “ _Fucking hell._ ”

He fired blindly out his window, knowing he couldn’t accurately shoot and drive at the same time. Still. He had to make them see that he was a threat. He needed them to see that he was too dangerous to keep in a county jail. He couldn’t fail this part. If he did, he was sure the Fakes would leave him in whatever cell he was thrown in. He had to get to Ramsey. He owed the boys that at least.

It all started to go wrong when one of his tires was shot. The car suddenly veered left. “Oh, shit!” He put both hands on the wheel and held on to correct it. He scraped along the divider, and the loss of momentum meant that one of the cop cars behind him could catch up and ram into the back of his car. Adam’s car suddenly jerked, slammed further into the concrete divide and jackknifed. He found himself pinned. He ducked down as bullets shattered the window. Shards of glass showered down upon him.

_“Oh, sweet Jesus.”_

He’d be astounded if he made it out of here alive. That got him thinking. What if he didn’t make it to the prison? What if he actually did die? Where would the Fakes go from there?

They’d probably set up another fall man, one of the others maybe, sweeten the deal, increase the pay cut.

At least Adam could say he went out in a blaze of bullets.

_“DISARM YOURSELF AND STICK YOUR HANDS OUT THE WINDOW!”_

Ah. The perfect out.

Adam made a show of rolling down his window and dropping his gun on the ground, safety on. He held both hands out the window and waited. Waited to see if these cops were crooked or law abiding. In Los Santos, a few cops made their marks by being “brave.” It was easy to pay off police officers when they were continuously overworked, understaffed, and underpaid. Sometime a little blind eye helped everyone.

Not these cops, though.

A SWAT member grabbed him by the back of his neck like he was a kitten and yanked him out of the car and onto the asphalt. He was slammed down on his stomach with a knee planted on his back. His arms were twisted back, and it all felt oh so familiar.

Pictures. Finger prints.  _Welcome back, Kovic. Was wondering when we’d see our favourite street racer again. What? You’re not a racer? Decided you wanted more money? Look how well_ that  _ended up for you. You’re going away for a long, long time. Won’t be our problem anymore._

It was all the same. He was used to it by now. Street racing had gotten him short stints in prison, shortened by his good behaviour because, fuck, prison was a nightmare and he didn’t want to be there any longer than necessary.

But now he was going to the Big house. Bolingbroke.

This was where lifers went. This was where crime bosses spent the remainder of their years. This was where you’d probably be shanked in the shower. It was a cutthroat prison that had never been broken out of. And Adam was being sent there because if anyone could break into one of the most secure banks in Los Santos  _and get away with it_ was sure fire material to be a crime boss. Get rid of him now before he grew into something monstrous. Like Ramsey.

He was given the spiel, given his linens and toiletries and marched to his cell. He wondered what kind of strings the Fakes could pull from out there, because when he stepped into his cell and met his cellmate, he nearly stopped breathing.

 _Ramsey._ Self-proclaimed king of Los Santos. The Inked Devil. The Bespoke Scourge.

He had many names. He had a fucking reputation.

“Heard you robbed a bank,” Ramsey said, arms crossed, fingers tugging on his beard as he studied Adam curiously.

“Heard you want to get out of here,” Adam said.

Ramsey smiled lazily and tilted his head. “I think I’m going to like you.”


	3. Pre-Game Shakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i should only need to write one more part for this story. enjoy the shenanigans

**Buff Huskies (the formerly known as)**

_JamesWillems: I miss adam. I could really use his daily dose of pessimism right now._

_brucegreene: why are you using the group chat??? I’m sitting right beside you???_

_SirLarr: guys please. Not during the first Matrix_

_brucegreene: Lawrence stop encouraging him. I’m afraid the others will get suspicious if we all keep looking at our cellphones_

_JamesWillems: pffft. Like matt has done anything else other than look at his phone when he’s here._

_SirLarr: he DOES have the latest iphone. I don’t blame him_

**a gal and her 6 gigolos**

_JoelRubin: why are you guys messaging each other during movie night??? I thought this was established. NO PHONES DURING MOVIE NIGHT UNLESS IF ITS AN EMERGENCY_

_JamesWillems: this is an emergency. I’m despairing over adam_

_ElyseWillems: youre the one who got him thrown in prison to begin with. I dont know why youre so hung up about it_

_JoelRubin: WHAT????_

_SirLarr: dammit james. We weren’t going to tell them_

_brucegreene: ffs_

_ElyseWillems: tell us what now? Is there something I don’t know about in the Adam Jailbird saga??? James. I am disappointed in you_

_JoelRubin: I demand answers! Don’t make me take this to the living room and make it even MORE awkward for everyone here_

_Mattpeake: guys. Matrix. How dare you_

_JamesWillems: OKAY. Cards on the table_

_SirLarr: james no_

_brucegreene: james NO_

_JamesWillems: so we were approached by this kickass gang a little while ago and hired to help with a little team building exercise. Long story short, that involved sending adam to prison, which is where he currently is_

_SirLarr: omg_

_brucegreene: SOMEONE STOP HIM_

_Mattpeake: here’s a revolutionary idea. You could literally just reach over and take his phone out of his hands_

_JoelRubin: and ruin the integrity of movie night??? James, what gang are you associated with? Also is adam ever coming home?_

_ElyseWillems: joel asking the real questions here_

_JamesWillems: well here’s the thing_

_SirLarr: WE DON’T KNOW IF ADAM’S COMING BACK_

_brucegeene: ignore Lawrence. He’s been fretting recently_

_JoelRubin: ??????_

_ElyseWillems: james I want my freeloader back in my apartment_

_JamesWillems: don’t WORRY I’ve got this covered_

_Mattpeake: well actually the Fakes got it covered, so adam’ll be fine_

_SirLarr: ……_

Bruce turned to face Matt accusingly. “Matt!”

“What? They were going to find out sooner or later.”

The Matrix was paused while the three formerly-known-as-Buff-Huskies turned on Matt accusingly while the other two freelancers tried to figure out what it was that the other had gotten themselves into.

“We didn’t expose your job with the Fakes, and this is the thanks we get?” James said.

“Um, we already knew Matt was with the Fakes,” Elyse said, “ _so._ ”

“They knew and we didn’t?” Lawrence said.

“You guys don’t know how to keep a secret,” Matt said. “If you had known, _everyone_ would be after me.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” James muttered. “We do have some common sense, thank you very much.”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” Joel said. “Let me get this straight. You guys got involved with Fakes.”

“Yes,” said Bruce.

“Who’s boss is currently in prison.”

“Yes.”

“And Adam is now _conveniently_ in prison.”

“Also yes.”

“Are you telling me the four of you _plus_ Adam are involved in a prison break heist?”

“Well,” James said. “When you put it _that_ way—”

“There is no other way to put it! That’s exactly what you’re doing!”

“Then why are you making such a fuss about this?” Lawrence asked. “We’re just doing what we can to make a living!”

“Yeah, but the Fakes? Come on! Even I worked for them, and I know damn irresponsible when I see it.”

“Has everyone worked for the Fakes _but_ us?” James said.

“Well,” Elyse said. “Now that you mention it.”

Bruce frowned. “Has _everyone_ worked for the Fakes except for us?”

“Why didn’t you tell me!” James leaned over closer to Elyse. “We live together!”

“It wasn’t a long term gig! It wasn’t even that exciting! Just some surveillance and shit.”

“But we’re supposed to tell each other everything. That’s what couples do.”

“Okay,” Joel said, returning the conversation to the matter at hand. “So. What’s the deal with Adam then? Why’s he in prison?”

“Well,” Bruce said, “the Fakes needed someone to stay close to Ramsey, and considering that Adam already had a criminal record—”

“He was the obvious and easy chose to get put into the system,” Lawrence said. “It’s just a waiting game right now. Until the Fakes have their end of the heist put into place.”

“So you’re sure Adam’s coming back,” Joel said. “Eventually.”

“Yep.”

The conversation soaked into the room, and Joel shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

They returned to the movie at hand, descending into appropriate silence.

It wasn’t long after that they all simultaneously received _the text._

 _Unknown: let’s get this part started. 0500. Meet at the penthouse for the pregame_  
Unknown: bring drinks!  
Unknown: and some Diet Coke for the quiet one

* * *

“Okay,” Jack said, pacing the room and running her hands through her hair. “Part 2 of the prison heist. Gavin, what do you have for me?”

They’d been invited up to the Fakes penthouse, and honest to God, it felt totally surreal.

It was dripping in expensive furnishings. Crystal tumblers, leather couches, flat screen TVs, gaming consoles, sound system, stainless steel kitchen appliances, granite counter tops, and a painting that Lawrence was pretty sure was the original Scream.

“Yeah,” Jeremy had said. “It was on loan to the art gallery here in town, and Ryan had his membership revoked.”

“ _Banned for life, Jeremy,_ ” Ryan had said from across the room. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you guys to come out.”

And now they were seated in what was designated as the heist room, sat in high end office chairs while Gavin fiddled around with various tech equipment that made Lawrence a little bit jealous.

Well.

A lot actually. The price tag was probably in the tens of thousands.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

“Okay,” Gavin said, drawing everyone’s attention. “So what we have is a shit tonne of fireworks, a shit tonne of body armour, a shit tonne of armoured cars, and a cargo bob. What that amounts, I can only imagine.”

“Michael,” Jack said. “Ideas.”

“Fireworks to distract,” he said. “I figured we could do a late evening thing to get the full effect. Fireworks are pretty much useless in the day time. Beyond that I thought we could leave, like, radios all around the edge of the prison, playing music at various times, or whatever, so it just keeps them on edge. And I think the week before that, we can fly over and drop pamphlets, right? Taunting them? And then the day of, we get the fireworks, we tear down the fence, we drop in the car. We haul ass to the yacht.”

Lawrence nodded along, seeing plan come to fruition in his head. The distractions, the confusion, the glitz, the glam, the car being dropped—

Wait a minute.

“Did . . . did you just say that you’re dropping  a car into the prison?” Bruce asked.

“How else is Geoff supposed to get out?” Gavin asked.

“Yeah, and you said your boy Adam was a street racer before this right?” Jeremy said. “Then what’s the big deal?”

“I’m just.” Bruce then shook his head. “Clarifying.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “Next part is the escape. Jeremy, Ryan, you guys are up.”

“So basically,” Ryan said, leaning forward, “by the time Adam and Geoff get out of the prison, _everyone and their mother_ will be after them. So we need to provide cover, and that means driving in identical cars to confuse the chasers. I figured we could take the tunnels to the bridge and jump off, get in a boat and drive off to the yacht.”

Lawrence let the words sinks in and frowned when he thought about the last part. “Jump off the bridge? Like with parachutes?”

“Maybe,” Ryan said with a shrug. “Or we could just _drive_ our cars off into the water, swim out to the boat, and then get to the yacht. Come to think of it. It’s probably better if we do that instead. The cars will give us extra protection so we can land safely.”

“Safely,” muttered Bruce, who was currently looking far off at the wall, as if realizing the absurdity of the situation they had gotten themselves into.

Jack nodded along approvingly and clapped her hands together. “Okay. Looks like we have a plan then. This is how we’re breaking it up. Michael, you’re on fireworks duty. Make sure there’s enough to go around. Jeremy and Ryan, I like the radio idea. You two are going to set them out and turn them on. Keep yourselves undercover. Gavin, we need someone to leave the boats for us when we get to the bridge. See if you can get Jones and Peake on it. Maybe Collins, too. Three boats should be good enough. I’ll make sure the yacht it set out on international waters. Once we cross the border and lose the cops, we’ll be in the clear. And now for you boys.”

Jack stood in front of them on the other side of the table, arms now crossed with a curious look set to her brow. Lawrence had never wanted to sink into the floor more than then, withering away under the intense stare from Ramsey’s second in command.

“Do any of you know how to fly?” she asked.

While James and Bruce both pointed at Lawrence, Lawrence just raised his hand timidly. “I do.” His uncle had taken him flying all the time as a kid, and since he was the only stable father figure in Lawrence’s life, Lawrence vicariously picked up flying. He just hadn’t kept up with it recently due to, well, _money._ But he was sure it was just like riding a bicycle. Or so he hoped.

“Can you pilot a helicopter?”

“Sure.”

“All right. You three are in charge of dropping those propaganda fliers. And just for kicks, I’ll even let you guys make your own to drop. See what you guys are made of. You drop them a day after the radios have been laid and a day before we drop the car in. Got it?”

The three nodded.

“Sure thing, boss,” James said, trying to be as charming and as pleasing as possible.

Jack gave him a strange look and dismissed the room.

In the car outside, Bruce leaned forward from the backseat and said, “James, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“What?” James said. “What did I do? Lawrence, what did I do?”

“Just stick to Elyse,” Lawrence said, putting the car into drive. “I’m pretty sure Jack doesn’t want someone like _you_ flirting with her.”

* * *

They were at James’s apartment, looking over designs Lawrence had for their flyer. Bruce was 100% certain they were overthinking it. Jack probably wasn’t looking for something _too_ complicated, right? So how hard could it be?

Hard, apparently. Because Lawrence was fretting that it wouldn’t be good enough. James was coming up with _thousands of ideas_ that were better than their previous ones, when realistically they would only need, like, two or three ideas. Tops.

“What if you dropped that image down a bit?” Bruce asked, pointing to the screen as the three of them huddled around Lawrence and his laptop. “Yeah. And put that one in, uh, bold font?”

One of the designs they were working on was of an angry duck—the call sign of the Fakes—peering around a corner with the words ‘ _Knock Knock’_ at the bottom. The second design was of a silhouette of a man, dressed in a fine suit with his back turned to face the onlookers. There was a crown floating above his head with the words _‘did you miss me?’_ at the bottom.

When the designs were done, they sent them off to the Fakes for approval. All they got from Gavin was ‘ _top.’_ So they decided that their designs were satisfactory and decided to print off five hundred of each and call it a night.

The day before the drop, they went out for dinner with Joel, Elyse, and Matt. Bruce didn’t mean for it to turn out as a sombre, but when his food was put out in front of him, he couldn’t help but think that this might be his last meal.

“Bruce,” Elyse said. “Are you not eating because it’s not Chipotle?”

“Nah,” he said. “Just . . . you know. Work stress. Hey, do you guys ever worry about, you know, not coming back after a job?”

Elyse shrugged. “Meh.”

“You get used to it,” Joel said.

“You should actually be more concerned about the people you work with,” Matt said, twirling his pasta with a fork. “They’re more likely to get you killed because they’re idiots.” He pulled his other hand up onto the table to steady his plate when Bruce noticed that his ring finger and middle finger of his right hand were taped together.

“Um, Matt?” he said. “What did you do?”

Matt, being Matt (his usual difficult self), shrugged off his concern. “What?”

“Did you break your fingers?”

“No.”

“He totally did,” James said, leaning in close to Elyse.

“Jesus Christ, Matt,” Lawrence said, reaching over to try and get a better look at the damage that had been done.

“That’s it,” Joel said, sitting back and looking around to flag down a waiter. “We’re heading to the clinic.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Matt said, trying to pull away from Lawrence.

“It’s a big deal when your fingers are purple,” Bruce said. They packed up their half-eaten meals, paid the cheques, and left the restaurant. Bruce snagged a breadstick basket on their way out, because he was actually still hungry, and his food wasn’t exactly finger food. So breadsticks it was as they walked down the street to nearest clinic.

It was a common sight. At one point or another they had each been taken to a clinic because they’d been injured and wanted to hide it. And then the others had rallied to bring them to the clinic because 1) it was nice to have people who cared about you, and 2) they wouldn’t have gone otherwise if six nagging people had told them to. Explicitly. Several times. Added with a final _‘I’m not your parent.’_ It was just who they were, because they were all they had at the end.

“So what happened this time?” Bruce asked as he sat beside Matt in the reception area.

“Nothing bad,” Matt said. “It’s just . . . _the big guy._ You know. He has me working with his B-Team. And they’re okay, but one guy, Collins, he talks to much. And he can be a bit reckless. Hence the broken fingers.”

“Do you not like working with them?” he asked.

“No. I _do._ I mean, it’s better than just freelance work. But I just don’t like the team I have to work with, you know?”

Bruce nodded. “Hey. I swear to you that when this is all over and we’re a proper crew, we’ll give you a nice position on our team. Now. I haven’t slept well in the last two days, so this is just pure exhaustion speaking at this point, but the dream is all of us together. Under one roof.” He held up one finger to emphasize his point.

“Has James been talking to you about his grand plan again?”

“Maybe. But the point is—”

“Matt Peake. The doctor can see you now.”

Matt stood up. “You guys don’t have to wait up for me.”

“It’s tradition!” Joel said.

“Good luck, Matt,” Elyse said. “We love you!”

Once Matt was gone, Joel took the opportunity to question the guys where Operation Bust Adam Out of Prison was at.

“We’re at the newspaper delivery stage,” Lawrence said.

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“Probably not.”

“The big party is happening the day after,” James said. “ _So._ If all goes well, our favourite boy should be back in our arms in no time.”

“If you say so,” said Elyse. “And if he’s not back, I don’t want you guys to go out and find a replacement for him.”

“Well,” Lawrence said after a beat. “There goes our back up plan.”

* * *

James was lying on his back on the floor of the helicopter. He’d been waiting for an hour now for Lawrence to finish up his pre-flight checks, and boy howdy, the guy was meticulous. It wasn’t a bad thing, but James just wanted to get _flying_ and to kick off the pre-heist with a little littering. (They’d used 100% recycled paper for this heist, because James wasn’t ignorant of the state of the world, okay? He had a moral compass. In some sense.)

“Lawrence,” he said, dragging out his name. “Can we go already?”

“Forgive me if I don’t want to die by my own hand. It’s been a while since I’ve flown.”

“I also can’t believe you never told us you could fly?” Bruce said.

“Well, if you all had known, James would’ve wanted me to teach you guys how to fly so we could be a plane crew. Not happening.”

“You know me so well,” James said fondly.

“So well,” Lawrence said, less fondly.

Once Lawrence was done with his list, James buckled himself in, and each pulled on their radio helmets as they flew over the prison with the doors open.

“Did you guys sign your wills?” Lawrence asked as they slowly ascended into the sky. “Because if not, I packed a few blank ones under the seats.”

“Elyse knows she gets first dibs on my stuff if I die,” James said.

“Yeah, and Peake said he’d probably rifle through my stuff before the landlord took it all,” Bruce said.

“Well, if you say so.”

Despite the fact that Lawrence was a strictly ‘by the books’ pilot, they didn’t go exceptionally fast, nor did he make any crazy manoeuvers. It was the steadiest helicopter ride James had ever been a part of, and he’d been part of _two_ before (one because he was being airlifted to a hospital after a _really_ bad dirt bike crash when he was fourteen. Had the metal screws in his leg to prove it). Still, it was an enjoyable ride that had James feeling like a kid all over again.

_This was what he had imagined. This was what he wanted to be a part of. Something grand. Something odd. Something destructive and selfish all at once._

He didn’t understand where Bruce’s and Lawrence’s worry was coming from. Probably nerves. Anxiety perhaps. But this was their big break. Maybe if the Fakes saw they were worth the trouble, worth the effort, then they could work out a more permanent deal. Get something where they could hire Elyse and Joel and Matt. Where they could develop their own tag, their own brand. Where their name would be spoken on the streets. If that was allowed of course. James had heard of what happened when rival gangs moved into Fake territory. Maybe they could cut a deal?

“Get ready with those fliers,” Lawrence said. “We’re dropping in a minute.”

James moved to one of the open side doors of the helicopter and pulled one of the boxes closer to his side. At the other open door was Bruce with another box.

“Here we go,” Lawrence said. “Dropping in three, two, one. Bombs away!”

James tipped his box and let the hundreds of leaflets spill from the helicopter down onto the prison below. Once the boxes were empty, they closed the doors and hunkered down as Lawrence flew them to safety.

“All right,” James said. “Who’s up for some pre-heist shots?”

“Oh,” Lawrence said. “Shots.”

* * *

The day of the heist arrived. They hit up the thrift store a few hours before they had to meet with the Fakes. They had been given no dress code, so naturally, they all went with styles they had claimed as their own when they decided to take the gang business seriously.

Lawrence decided on skeleton patterned clothing. Full on pants, sweatshirt, gloves. The whole nine yards.

Bruce went for flaming red pants and a gold sequined shirt. Because why not. It’s not like they were aiming for stealth on this mission.

And James stuck with his patented camo vest and zebra print pants.

They met up with the Fakes, all decked out in their familiar get-ups a few miles away from the prison. Jack offered them shots to calm their nerves and for some bonding. At least, that’s what James hoped it was about.

“Hey, Bruce,” Michael said. “Did you get a scorpion tattoo on the side of your face?”

“Oh, um, it’s actually a temporary tattoo, you know? I found out that temporary tattoos are a _really_ good way at getting people to look at the tattoo and not pay attention to the general shape of your face.”

“And that fucking works?”

“So far it has.”

There were some mild appreciative comments made about Bruce’s fascination with temporary tattoos.

After loosening up, Jack brought their attention back to the matter at hand: successfully breaking both Geoff and Adam out of prison without anyone dying, being arrested, and if they were feeling it, injured as well.

“James, Bruce, Lawrence, you’re all on firework duty. I’ve got three spots for you to stand at, and all you need to do is shot off as many fireworks as you can. Michael, Jeremy, and Ryan, you’re on fence duty. Once the newbies here have the guards attention, you go in and tear those fences down. After that, I hope Gavin will have gotten into the system and force it to restart, giving Geoff and Adam enough time to get outside to the courtyard, which is where I will have dropped the car. When Geoff and Adam are safely away, we follow them and get to the bridge. We jump off the bridge, get to the boats, and it should be smooth sailing from here on out. Sound good?”

Full nods and agreements.

“All right. Your ear pieces are set to the right frequency. Just take your stuff in your car and head out. I’ll keep in touch.”

They broke off after that. James drove the three of them off to their destinations and left them there with a stockpile of fireworks that could launched from modified rocket launcher.

They stood silently, waiting for Jack’s signal as they looked down at the prison below where Adam had been held for two weeks. The sun was setting. The wind was blowing. It was the perfect night for a heist.

“I just want you guys to know that I love you,” James said.

“No, you don’t,” Lawrence said. “You just love the idea of working with the Fakes, and you’re happy we didn’t sabotage this for you.”

“ _So,_ ” they heard Jeremy come in over the ear pieces. _“Are you guys fucking or what? We kind of have a bet going.”_

“Fucking?” Lawrence said. “Please. We prefer the term consensual love making.”

“We were actually all raised in a cult,” James said. “And we were all promised to each other when we were, like, ten.”

_“Just how many of you are there? I thought it was just the main four.”_

“Well,” Bruce said. “We’re kind of a group of seven?”

 _“Yeah? And who else it there?”_ asked Gavin.

“Well. There’s Elyse and Joel and Matt. Matt already works for you. And I think Joel and Elyse might’ve done some stuff for you?”

 _“All right,_ ” Jack said. _“Enough chit chat. Let’s get this started. Fire in three, two, one._ ”

* * *

 

It started with radios and ABBA. When they were allowed out into the courtyard for exercise, they heard the faint chords of ABBA’s _Fernando._ Geoff had been smiling all day because of that. Not only was he a fan of ABBA, he also knew that was a sign that the heist was coming to its climax.

“Few more days, Kovic,” he said as they’d been locked up in the cell for the night. “Soon you’ll be knocking back mojitos on a yacht that’s worth a small country.”

It was about fucking time, in Adam’s opinion. He’d been here too long, was getting some strange looks from the other prisoners, and if he hadn’t been picked up by Ramsey himself, he’d be prison bait for sure. In some regards, he was still young and soft in ways that some prisoners here liked to look at. Bolingbroke was not a place for him.

Then came the fliers that littered the courtyard and the surrounding area of the prison. He’d gotten a good look at them before a lockdown order was enforced and they were locked up in their cells until the guards could figure out _what the hell_ was happening.

Lockdown wasn’t fun. You had to stay in your cell until the threat was remedied, and then all the guards were walking around in heavier gear with guns that shot rubber pellets.

The mysterious music and the leaflets had certainly riled up the guards. They questioned Geoff after the incidents had occurred, but as he reminded them, he’d had no outside contact with anyone in his crew since he’d been arrested. How could he have planned any of this when he was being monitored 24/7?

Meanwhile, Adam tried to disappear into the corner because he was _not_ attracting the attention of any guard. He was not going to be used to get closer to Geoff, because if they pushed hard enough, he was sure he’d spill something without intending to.

“You ready?” Geoff asked the night after the leaflets had been dropped.

“Ready for what?” he asked.

“It’s your turn to shine, kid. Make your daddy proud.”

“Please don’t call yourself that.”

Geoff only laughed.

Adam was having a hard time picturing how he would get Geoff to the getaway car in the first place. Lockdown meant no courtyard access. The only time they left their cell was for thirty minutes to briefly exercise inside and take a shower. That was it. So how was he—

_Click._

The locks on the cell door just popped. And there was no one on the other side. Then the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. And so, too, did the emergency siren.

“Time to go, kid,” Geoff said. He jumped up from his bed and Adam followed after him.

Other prisoners had trickled into the hallway. All the doors had been unlocked from the sudden power outage. Geoff wasted no time in hauling ass down the hallways to the courtyard exit. Adam had no choice but to follow him.

They burst out onto the courtyard and saw that it was empty. The car wasn’t here yet. There were explosions off in the distance. Sections of the fence had been torn down. And was that the unmistakeable sound of copter blades in the air?

“PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”

“DOWN ON YOUR KNEES!”

“IF YOU MOVE A MUSCLE, WE WILL SHOOT YOU!”

 _“Oh, God,_ ” Adam said.

There were three guards out on the scene, all looking frazzled but determined to stop the King of Los Santos from escaping.

“Now now,” Geoff said with a smirk. “I’ve had a good run here, but I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. Besides. I think I hear my ride.”

The helicopter flew dangerously low overhead. It kicked up the dust from the ground as it briefly hovered a few feet above the ground as it dropped the car it had been carrying before taking off. It stayed nearby the prison as one of the passengers fired off shots from the outside.

Geoff slapped a hand down on Adam’s shoulder, tense and hunched from the rush of adrenaline. “Time to get going, Kovic. Don’t disappoint me.”

Adam rushed to the driver’s seat as Geoff took up residence in the back. The keys were sticking out of the ignition, so it was easy to get the car started and moving. He stomped his foot down on the accelerator and gunned it for the gaps in the fences.

“I have _no_ idea where I’m going,” Adam said.

“Don’t worry,” Geoff said as he leaned forward and fiddled with the satnav. “Let’s get our lovely lady on the phone here and see where we’re at.”

He called Jack, the Ace Pilot, with the use of the in-car phone.

“Hello, hello,” Geoff said. “It’s your favourite bad boy on the phone.”

 _“Bad boy,_ ” Jack said. _“You’re actually more nerdy than the leather wearing Greasers from Grease.”_

Geoff chuckled. “And I missed you, too. So why don’t you get Gavvers on the satnav issue so my chauffeur knows where to go.”

_“Sounds good. See you in a bit.”_

“Here’s hoping.”

The location for the meet up was directed to Adam’s satnav, and he instantly felt better about this half-baked plan. Until he heard the telltale dings of bullets on sheet metal from the outside.

“Hey,” Geoff said. “They got us an armoured car. Sweet.”

“Here’s hoping our tires don’t go,” Adam said, taking a sudden jerk to the left as he went off road.

“Still, you’re driving’s pretty smooth. If we get out of this, I’m going to offer you a position on my crew. I need someone who can drive fancy and I like your cynicism.”

“Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it.”

If he made it out of this.

If he made it out of this alive and miraculously unharmed, he was going to punch James in the dick for suggesting he get into the crew business in the first place.


	4. Rebranding: The Key to Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we did it. we made it to the end.

For as long as Adam had been alive, he always wanted to go fast. He could never sit still in class; he could never pay attention long enough. There was just nothing out there that could drive his focus until he first started driving at the tender age of thirteen.

In a rally car at the local fair. He lied his way in and was glad that he had shot up quicker than anyone else, his height giving him the leverage he needed to get in.

Driving—the reckless and fast kind—was the thing that got him to focus. For once in his damn life, his thoughts weren’t spiraling out of control. Everything was attuned to the way the car handled, the way the engine sounded, to the way his hands moved effortless around the wheel and gear shift.

He picked up street racing when he was sixteen, found a crowd that was willing to let him race for peanuts. Quite literally. If he raced well, they bought him dinner. If not, well, they still took him out for dinner, but it was usually Taco Bell or Wendy’s. Not some high class shit.

When he was seventeen, he was arrested for the first time for his street racing. Ended up in juvie for six months until he turned eighteen.

Then at twenty.

And again at twenty two when he was lucky enough to meet James and, well, the rest is history.

Eventually, he gave up on the street racing at twenty-four when James said he had a better idea for Adam to make some quick money, and that’s when TruckNutz came up.

But every once in a while, he would get to stretch his skills in driving once more, always designated as the getaway man because he was the only one who could competently get away from the cops. That or he would just take his car up through the Vinewood hills just to get away for a few hours.

But now he was driving 90 mph down a service road, getting shot at by a convoy of armed personnel with the most notorious kingpin in the city in the back seat, laughing as Adam tried to keep them alive.

When his side view mirror was shot, Adam flinched. _“Jesus Christ!”_

“Loosen up, kid,” Geoff said, buckling himself in because things were starting to get a little too bumpy.

“Excuse me while I try to keep us alive.”

_Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize._

The prize was currently a blip on the GPS screen. And currently, Adam had _no_ idea what was expected of him when he got there, only that he had to stay alive. That simplified it, yet also made it terrifying, because he was pretty sure when he got there, he’d be cornered. Unless if this escape plan was meant to end in a spectacular blaze of gunfire. In that case, he’d just have to wait until the afterlife to punch James in the dick. Or pray to whatever deity was out there and hope that he would make it home today. Please? He wasn’t that bad of a person. He tried to be good. He really did.

(He really didn’t, but they didn’t need to know that.)

He looked briefly to his side view mirror, catching sight of the pack of police cruisers trailing behind him, all red and blue flashing lights and sirens. Dusk was the worst time to drive, when it was still light out but not light enough to get away without using headlights. Plus the path the GPS was taking him was off the beaten path, so he couldn’t depend upon any street lights to help him. It was a bumpy, rough ride, and he had to be careful not to ditch it in any surprise holes.

Meanwhile, Geoff was in the back, making ample use of the in-car phone, chatting with various members of his gang to catch up on the weeks he’s been gone.

“ _Say, Geoffrey,_ ” said Gavin. _“That driver of yours is looking pretty good from down there.”_

“Yeah, this Kovic guy really knows how to drive.”

“It’d be easier with paved fucking roads,” Adam muttered. He heard a few bullets _ping_ against the bullet proof siding of the car. Each time it happened, he flinched. He was expecting his window to be blown in, but it never happened. Didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking though. “Jesus. Geoff, can you get these cops off my fucking back?”

“Hey, Gavvers, we could really use some cover.”

_“On it. The defense teams are coming in a few seconds yet. Just get onto the highway, and you’ll be good to until we get to the bridge.”_

“What’s this about a bridge?” Adam asked.

Before Geoff could reply, they were rammed by a car and sent into a spiral that Adam had trouble correcting. They spun until they were facing the opposite way, facing down a rapidly approaching swarm of cop cars while the car that had crashed into them sat there menacingly as the cops exited with their guns drawn.

_“Shit.”_

Adam weighed his options. He could throw the car into reverse, spin it around and gun it, but he was afraid that they’d lost too much momentum to gain back a significant lead.

He shifted in his seat, switched the car into reverse, and then watched as this purple monstrosity of a truck slid into view in front of them, providing Adam and Geoff with cover from the approaching police convoy. Even the cops that had slammed into them suddenly dove out of sight as two more cars came onto the scene—a red car in the same style as the one Adam drove, and another that looked like a very suped-up hatchback style vehicle. Which then Adam realized was being driven by Bruce with James in the passenger’s seat and Lawrence in the back.

James, excited to see Adam, rolled down his window. It was hard to hear him beyond the glass, so Adam rolled down his window and said, _“I am going to fucking kill you if we get through this!”_

James, who looked shocked from the outburst, replied, “ _How could you say that? We’re mounting a rescue for you!”_ Before anything more could be said, James was yanked back in (probably by Lawrence) before he could be shot at.

 _“For fuck’s sake!”_ Adam slammed his foot down on the accelerator and reversed in quick succession, yanking the wheel hard left until he spun around and was facing the right direction. He shifted the gears into drive and gunned forward, heading for the highway with the others in tow.

For added protection, the other cars flanked him with sounds of gunfire coming from their directions as they kept the convoy off their backs.

 _“Hey, guys, I’m patching in all the rest over the phone,”_ Gavin said.

“Sounds good, Gavin,” Geoff said.

Soon, the car was full of the voices of the others over the static of gunfire.

_“Geoffrey!”_

_“Welcome back, Geoff.”_

_“Good to hear from you, boss!”_

“Aww, and I missed you guys, too. I’m _really_ interested in hearing where you picked the other guys up from. This Kovic guy is a laugh and a half.”

And that spurred on a whole other crowd from the speakers.

_“ADAM!”_

_“Where’s our boy at?!”_

_“I missed you the most!”_

Adam, white knuckling the steering wheel, shouted back, “ _You guys are_ so _lucky I’m not in the same car as you, or I’d drive us all head on to a train.”_

 _“Wow,”_ Gavin said. “ _That got dark.”_

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He just hasn’t gotten any action in a while. Not enough attention from his daddy.”

There was some snickering from the other end of the line, and Adam rolled his eyes. “ _Please_ stop calling yourself that.”

Their car was bumped from behind. Ryan came in over the phone and said, _“Oops! Sorry. They’re coming up from behind. We gotta move.”_

 _“Yeah, I think taking the tunnel is going to be a bad idea,”_ Jack said. _“These guys are everywhere.”_

Adam glanced at the GPS and looked at the surrounding terrain. He zoomed out and saw the blip he had to get to. “Where are we headed?”

“ _To the tunnel,”_ Gavin said. _“But they’re clogging up the other end, so if we go in, we’re trapped.”_

“So there’s a slight mountain between us and the bridge.”

_“Exactly.”_

Well, the saying went that if you couldn’t go through the mountain, then you had to go over it. Or something like that.

Adam veered away from the road and drove straight from the hills. He nearly clipped the red car on his way over.

_“Hey! Watch it!”_

_“Where’s he going?”_

_“Adam, now is not the time to be the silent hero.”_

“If we want to get to the end point or whatever’s over there, we need to go up and around.”

“ _We can’t cover you  up those narrow paths!”_

“You got a better idea?” There was silence. “Then we’re going up the mountain.”

The other cars were forced to follow up back up the tar and gravel roads, further away from the highway. It narrowed the playing field a bit, so the cop cars were also forced to drive in single file. The helicopter that Jack was piloting gave them ample cover up above, so for now they were covered. They just had to make it to the drop off point before the cops could regroup and move the blockade further down the road.

It was a thrilling chase, Adam had to give it that. The roads were winding and twisted, taking sharp turns to climb up the steep hills, tar and gravel giving way to dirt and shrubs. It was hard on the wheels, but he knew the run of the mill cop cars wouldn’t be able to handle the terrain their cars could.

The target loomed closer on the map as the road took them precariously closer and closer to the edge of a gully. Down below was a rushing stream that met up with the bay just beyond where the target point was set.

Adam yanked the steering wheel to a harsh left, nearly skidding out on the loose ground, taking the car on a downwards slope towards the bridge that was appearing in sight.

“Okay,” he said. “What next? Are we flying out of here or something?”

 _“Nope,_ ” Gavin said. _“Just drive straight into the bay. Swim out and boats will be there to meet you.”_

“Wait, what?”

“Sounds beautiful, Gavin,” Geoff said. “That’ll be something to watch on the evening news.”

_“I know, right? They’re going ape shit over this stuff. Can’t wait to watch the replay.”_

“You mean, you just want me to drive straight into the bay?”

“You heard him.” Geoff leaned forward. “There’s no way we’ll have enough time to ditch the cars, get the helicopter to land, _and_ take off with all of us in it before the cops catch up with us.”

“So? The others could easily provide us with decent cover so at least you and I can get on board.”

Geoff laughed. “Wow, you’re cutthroat when you’re lonely.”

“I’m not fucking—”

“Hey, no judgement. You hate and love them. I get that.”

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about!”

“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll get you back where you belong by breakfast.”

“And stop . . . did he call you these pet names too when you joined up?”

 _“For sure,_ ” Gavin said. _“You should’ve seen him when we picked up Jeremy. Took the whole sugar daddy thing to whole other level. See you on the yacht then, lads.”_

When they neared the bridge, the helicopter veered off towards open waters. As he drove onto the bridge, Adam double checked his seatbelt to make sure it was securely buckled and in place and totally wasn’t going to fuck him over when he was going to perform possibly the most idiotic thing in his entire life.

“It’s been nice knowing you, Kovic,” Geoff said. “If we get out of this alive, I’m going to buy you a house in the Vinewood hills.”

“But why Vinewood?”

Before Geoff could reply, Michael started shouting over the phone, _“GO! GO! GO!”_

Adam pressed his foot down before he could give into second thoughts and held on as the car drove over the edge and flipped end over end into the bay below.

* * *

 

The water was a bit of a shock. It was warm now that the sun had gone down, but it was dark and slightly terrifying.

Two cars ended upside down, and the panic to get out definitely gave the inhabitants a good reason to panic. First, they had to get out of their seatbelts as the cars slowly sank and slowly filled with water. After which, they’d have to smash the windows in and wait until the pressure inside the car matched the pressure outside so they could open the doors and swim out. Or they could swim through a hole of broken glass, which none wanted to do but was mighty tempting when you were running out of oxygen.

From there it was easier, swimming to the surface, breaching the water, breathing in a clear lungful of air and swimming off to the nearest speedboat before the cops gathered up on top of the bridge tried shooting at them.

At the nearest boat, James clambered up and over the side, feeling twenty pounds heavier from being waterlogged, and when he looked up, he swore he saw the face of an angel.

In Matt Peake.

“Oh, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he said.

“So I guess I can’t expect you to help me with the others?”

Matt pulled up the three other members of definitely-not-Buff-Huskies onto the boat and followed the other two boats across the dark waters before any members of the coast guard could catch up to them.

From there it’s a blur. Reaching the boarder of international waters. Getting onto the Fakes’ yacht. Collapsing on the nearest couch and, hey, is that Adam sitting next to me?

“Oh, my God,” James said. “Adam, you’re alive.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you idiots. I think I’m going to have a seatbelt bruise tomorrow.”

“Technically tomorrow _is_ already tomorrow,” Jeremy said where he was sat across from them. “It’s like two in the morning.”

“Hey, don’t get water on the upholstery.” A soaked Michael entered the room and sat down heavily on one of the open chairs and propped his feet up on the table. “You guys look like shit.”

“You guys literally put us through the fucking ringer,” Lawrence said. “What are we supposed to look like?”

A dry towel was thrown at each of them.

“One for you and you and you.” Gavin stepped around them before perching himself on the armrest of Michael’s chair. “That wasn’t so bad, eh, lads?”

“Define bad,” Adam said, towelling off his hair roughly.

“It couldn’t have been as bad as our first heist using motor bikes.”

“Yeah, that was just awful,” Michael said. “Ryan’s the only one who actually knows how to handle one of those things.”

“My ears are burning.”

Bruce had a mini heart attack once Ryan joined the group. It was because of the face paint that had been miraculously left untouched after their brief swim.

“Did you just reapply your face paint or something?” Jeremy asked.

“No. I used water proof. Didn’t want to scare anyone.”

“You’re telling me,” Bruce muttered.

It was then that the other two Fakes entered. Geoff had changed out of his prison uniform into a loose fitting suit jacket and pants, going barefoot. Jack sat down beside him on the couch. The room settled quietly, and Geoff sighed.

“Ahhh,” he said. “This feels good. No more flea ridden blankets and keeping people off of jail bait’s ass over there.”

Adam frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You guys were fucking stellar,” Geoff continued. “Honestly. Jack’s caught me up on the whole plan, and you guys really pulled through in the end, and none of you turned chicken. I’m honestly amazed. You don’t meet many people who are willing to stick through the crazy and not be a total selfish bastard. You guys are one in a million.”

“So,” James said. “What happens now? Considering we probably have our faces splashed over all the news channels in the entire country.”

“Lay low for a few weeks,” Jack said. “We can’t go back until we clean up Geoff’s mess and the FIB step in to smooth things over with the LSPD. When we get the all clear, we move in and take back what’s ours.”

“And what about us exactly?” Lawrence asked.

“I swear to God, if he tries to kill us at sea,” Adam muttered.

“No,” Geoff said with a wave of his hand. “I’m not going to kill you. I am offering you the job of a lifetime.”

“Here we go, boys,” James said, sitting forward.

“We’ve been thinking of expanding,” Geoff said. “Los Santos is a big fucking city, and I feel that we have a better idea of how to run it than those clowns do up at city hall.”

“Are you announcing your campaign bid, Geoff?” Michael said.

“No. I’m just saying we could use another crew. Separate from us that control a different part of town, but still loyal to us so that if we need a little help, they can give it to us.” Geoff waved  a hand at the direction of the four of them. “They’ve proven themselves, haven’t they? I say we take them on, show them the ropes. They already have an inkling for the criminal world. Why not give it a shot?”

“Second crews can be a bit messy,” Jack said.

“Oh, you guys are no fun. I’m saying it right now. Second crew. What do you boys say? You in?”

Before they even had a chance to look at each other, James said, “Yes. We’re in.”

And that was that.

* * *

 

It was a slightly surreal moment to spend two weeks on a yacht with the Fakes. They’d all loosened up and got to know each other a bit better. It wasn’t half bad. They’d had time to solidify things with this whole second crew bit. What Geoff was expecting in return for funding them. Asking them what type of skills they had and what else they could offer in return.

“Hey,” James said. “Do you think we could bring on a few more members?”

“How many we talking?”

“Three. They’ve all run for you before, so.”

Geoff nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem. What are their names?”

James was the dreamer, telling Geoff about what he envisioned for this crew.

Bruce was more the realist, looking at a map of Los Santos and reasoning how large an area they could realistically control.

Lawrence talked about skills and assets, what they could bring to the table and what they needed to take away.

And Adam, well, Adam just gave them a thumbs up whenever they asked him for an opinion. As long as he didn’t have to go back to prison and as long as a roof was assured over his head, he was fine with whatever they came up with.

“Now all you guys need is a name,” Michael said.

“And it can’t be Buff Huskies,” Adam chimed in before James could put his two cents forward. “In fact, anything dog related is off the table.”

“Hey,” Gavin said. “What about ‘funhaus’?”

“What the fuck is funhaus?” Jeremy asked.

“It’s on urban dictionary. Something about men dry humping each other in a sauna.”

The four of them exchanged looks and thought about the name.

“We could even change it up to Fakehaus,” Geoff said. “For branding purposes.”

“Or just Haus,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, but you have to say it with a thick German accent or someone will just assume that you’re going home,” Jeremy said.

“Exactly.”

Geoff looked to them for a final answer. “What do you guys think?’

“I’m literally fine with anything so long as it doesn’t include the words ‘buff’ or ‘husky’,” Bruce said. “So.”

“Funhaus,” Lawrence said. “Or whatever it is.

“Funhaus!” James said.

* * *

They gather at the base of the Vinewood sign waiting for Matt to arrive, taking pot shots at a line of Diet Coke cans  set up on one of the ‘O’s. Joel and Elyse have joined them that night. The sun’s getting lower, but they’re in no rush to be anywhere tonight.

They’re never in any rush, not anymore since coming back to the city and committing to the path set out before them. This was where they were meant to be. For now at least. Running the city with the Fakes, making headlines, stealing from the rich and giving to themselves—and vicariously the poor. They aren’t _awful_ people.

When Matt arrives, James stands before the group and claps his hands together. “So. I know all of you may be wondering what you’re doing here.”

“Skip to the good part!” Bruce says.

“I’ve got places to be!” Adam says.

“Settle down now. Now as I was saying, I gathered all of you hear today to make this as _the_ day we set off on a brand new adventure. Lawrence, if you please.”

From the trunk of a car, Lawrence produces a duffel bag and hands each of them a flare gun.

“Today we shall set out and make our mark on this city. A mark everyone will come to know as Funhaus.”

“What’s a Funhaus?” Joel asks.

“You don’t want to know,” Adam mutters.

“The Funhaus is us!” James declares.

“Do the rest of us get a vote?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, I thought we were a democracy, not a monarchy,” Elyse says.

“Guys, you are _ruining_ the magic,” James says.

“There was no magic to begin with,” Joel says. “You need to work on your delivery.”

“Can we just shoot this off now?” Bruce says. “I was promised explosions.”

“Fine,” James says. “I had more to say, but I’m sure we’re all on the same point here. To us! The Funhaus crew!” He fires off the first flare, and the others follow suit, firing off red bursts into the air to celebrate the formation of _their_ crew. Their own. Something they can shape and take to the streets, something that can hold them together and potentially tear them apart.

“And here’s to the idiots who decided to take us on!” Adam adds, firing a second flare into the sky.

It’s not perfect. Not when they know they’ll be fighting even harder for their damn lives. But they aren’t alone in this. They’ve got each other and they’ve got the Fakes. What more could they ask for?

 It will never be perfect, but it’s what they have.

And for now, it’s enough.


End file.
